Bouquet For My Dad

Dear Dad,
         I can't be near you today, when I'd really like to be.  I know you don't need me as much as you need skilled surgeons.  And since that is who is with you instead of me, I am somewhat comforted.  Perhaps you would find my presence comforting; the way I would be comforted knowing you were just behind those Operating Room doors, instead of 2,000 miles away.  I am sorry I am not nearer.  All my thoughts are on you this afternoon and I can't sit still.  I keep calling Mom, Sarah, Melissa, Derek, on the phone.  Listening, waiting, talking, talking and saying nothing important, and waiting to hear the words I'd give anything to hear, which are, "All's well.  He's doing great."  You have been incredibly patient these last few weeks, and now it's our turn to carry on the waiting game.
         While we wait to hear those magic words, I took these photos in my yard.  It's a lovely time of year here.  You would like it.  It's like April in Shafter!  June in Winkler.  My largest tomato plant has set two fruits.  My strawberries are pushing out green fruit.  The lilacs are at their peak, wafting scent up through the kitchen window.  This is my first poppy.  The hawthorne is attracting lots of bees.  I have a tiny "Prairie Joy" rose bud (not pictured).  And daisies and lavender and flax and honeysuckle and chives and irises and lily of the valley and pansies and spinach, spinach galore!  This is my bouquet to you, Dad.  I hope it cheers you.  It has done it's work on this end: reminding me of color, brightness, giving me fresh hope, and getting me out of my house and into the warm growing places you helped and inspired me to make.
          I love you so much, Dad.  So much.  So.  Much.

                                              laura